Because They Were So Keen
by The Divine Comedian
Summary: Monstrous Regiment. Cheers to you, Private Bloodsucker. Oneshot. Strappi, Mal, Polly.


**Spoilers:** Monstrous Regiment.

**Characters:** Strappi, Mal, Polly.

**Notes:** Strappific! (Er... I'm sorry?) One drabble, one double-drabble, one oneshot or whatever one calls fics of exactly 1768 words. They are supposed to form a functional unit.

(I) happens somewhere at the beginning of MR, while the recruits discover their mutual dislike for Strappi, who might or might not be a listener at tent flaps.

(II) takes place a few days later and contains a tiny reference to Amazon's ficverse (see the Cheesemongers community over on LJ).

(III) is... not exactly Strappific. Takes place at the end of MR and is the result of pondering why the hell Mal didn't totally kill Strappi dead. Which we don't know for sure, anyway.

Rating for language and violence that might or might not happen.

* * *

**Because They Were So Keen**

(I)

Corporal - for now - Strappi had withdrawn into the relative safety of his tent when the first raindrops began to fall, surrounding himself with a candle and an anatomical chart and a knife and a piece of wood. Amazing, the sharpness you could achieve.

Not enough, not enough; he could press the silver shilling to its face, kick those ridiculous teeth out of its head and it'd still not be enough.

He tested the pointy end on his finger. Too harmless, he felt, but it'd had to do until he thought of something better.

An officer could always claim self-defence.

(II)

Somewhere in the remote parts of Borogravia, a smallish fire hissed and flared up when an object of undefined dimensions hit the flames. The man huddled next to the fireplace averted his face from the smoke that rose in response, that stink of a woman.

Women. What were the odds?

Next one, from Manickle's pack. A tiny bag, off-white linen tied with a string of lace, crumbled and blackened in the heat. For a moment, the scent of dried rose petals mingled with the stench of burned hair.

Next. He had a brief internal struggle over this one; it was a Klatchian Midnight Surprise, after all. Such impeccable taste in such an abominable creature, he hardly paused to wonder. His inner eye saw the package crack and burn and dissolve into dust, and then saw its owner crack and burn and dissolve into dust. That was a nice thought.

This was better. Put it to good use, instead of destroy -

A busy while later, Captain Strappi raised a regimental mug to his lips. "Cheers to you, Private Bloodsucker," he said into the night.

He knew a thing or two about vampires, and he hoped it'd go after Perks first.

(III)

Maladict had teeth, but at this moment in time, she wished she had claws as well, so that she could properly tear as many eyes out as took her fancy. Her imagination, always ready, always vivid even after all these years, painted the picture, and it painted with red.

Maladict breathed in.

Hanging upside-down in the shadows, concentrating, concentrating, she smelled the soldier long before she heard the heartbeat. It sounded all wrong, younger and enticing, and the smell fooled her for a moment - someone had found a bar of soap and made good use of it. Closing her eyes, she hoped she'd go unnoticed in the darkness.

The footsteps stopped. As the seconds, minutes passed, Maladict felt distinctly watched.

"I'm asleep, Polly," she said after a while, "there's nothing to see here."

"Yeah, right," said Polly, always so observant. "Mal, these are the officer quarters. What do hell do you think you are doing?"

"Hanging around until someone promotes me," said Mal. "What does it look like?"

Silence, silence, and then, a slight change of sounds told her Polly was standing on tiptoes, too close already. A hiss, very softly, "You signed the pledge, Mal."

There went the hope Polly didn't know what was going on. Maladict was not used to this; with Polly around, she felt as transparent as a shard of glass, and just as edgy, and maybe, maybe she should be glad Polly was not concentrating on her most of the time.

"Yeah, well," said Mal, "I'm not supposed to drink human... you know. Nobody ever said anything about not spilling it."

It's blood, she thought. Blood blood blood. That was something Polly didn't know: half of this was a game; humans tended to feel so much safer when the vampire went into undignified stutters trying to pronounce the b-word.

Half of this was struggling not to get used to even saying it, not again.

"I'm sure they have," said Polly, and Mal remembered saying something about ripping heads off, how that was not popular with the League. They'd known each other for a week, and already Polly knew too much about her.

Coffee beans with real soap, indeed.

"They have, actually," she admitted, "it's in the footnotes. Who the hell cares about footnotes?"

With that, she dug into a pocket of her cloak for the nearly-empty pack of cigarettes. And matches. What with Lofty being in the same castle, she was quite proud about having managed to acquire those.

"Oh, _shit_," said Polly.

What was it that she recalled now? Mal remembered the first few days, the way she'd been able to read Polly. That had certainly slipped away. If she was to name the state she was in, she'd call it a hangover. She was, after all, tired and sensitive to bright lights and also a bit hazy on the details of the things she'd said and done.

One cigarette in her hand, and then, cigarette - hand - lips - damn! _It's the sucking. I miss it._ What had she been thinking, exposing herself like this?

Mal opened her eyes for the first time during the exchange. Polly, beneath her, was looking slightly worried, but not overly so.

"Polly," said Mal, "this is not about craving. This is _personal_." She lit up with hands that weren't shaking at all. "You're not in danger, trust me on that."

"Mal, he's already facing a trial. That's got to be -," said Polly.

"Enough?" asked Mal. "Are you fucking kidding me? He tried to turn me into a monster, and he'll get a monster. Nice and easy. I might even clean up afterwards."

"Except he didn't succeed," said Polly, " and that's the whole _point_. You never _were_ a monster, Mal."

"Not recently, you mean?" asked Mal. She placed the cigarette between her lips, then reached up for the rafter she was hanging off, lowering herself to the ground. A bad move, maybe, because, upon turning around, Mal suddenly found herself looking up to Polly. She'd never realised Polly was the taller one.

So -

"You would have been the first, Polly," she said.

"What?"

Damn, thought Mal. She'd already found out that Polly wasn't the sort to enjoy being confided in, but there was the tiredness, and the confusion, and this mad need to explain herself, even if it meant -

"What I said, Polly," she said. "You'd have been the first. You were closest. Then, I don't know, probably Wazzer, 'cause she was with us, and after that..."

"Stop." It wasn't a hiss, as such.

"Tonker, I'd say," said Mal. "She would have fought, and I used to like that in a girl." Whoops. "By then, Igorina might have got to me." She took a deep drag of her cigarette. "Maybe not."

"Mal," said Polly, "you realise that I neither want nor need to know any of this? It hasn't happened, so spare me the details."

"Think about it," said Mal.

The details were there, and Mal gave Polly some time to ponder them. Being a right bastard did come with vampirism, after all.

"And now that you have thought about it," she added, after a while, "tell me again I'm overreacting."

Was that a plea? Mal wondered. She knew her face gave nothing away, she was good at that, and she knew that Polly, of all people, would be having a hard time trying to think of reasons not to kill Strappi. So what was Mal playing at?

"You know, Mal," said Polly. "It's for your own good."

"Mum!" said Maladict. "What a cunning disguise you're in!"

Polly groaned. "Well, it is," she said. "I wouldn't go to such great lengths in order to save _Strappi_. You know that."

"Who then?" asked Mal, and then added, "_Oh_."

Polly stared straight ahead. Definitely sergeant material. Mal chose to disregard the last ten seconds.

"Polly, _please_ -"

"No," said Polly.

Mal stood there, smoking. It wasn't only the sucking, she knew, it was the pose, hands that weren't nervously flailing around, the impression that you always, always were on top of things. Polly wouldn't understand.

"They don't pay me enough for putting up with this shit," said Mal.

She looked down, trying to keep the weariness to herself, the knowledge that even though Mal might have survived this, Polly wouldn't have had a chance in the world; and despite everything, the blood would have been on Mal's hands.

Blood stuck. Oh it did.

She could _feel_ the eyebrow being raised at her.

"Are you maybe a wee bit on the materialistic side?" asked Polly.

Mal shrugged. "Vampire," she said.

So it all dissolved into weak jokes again, she thought. The walking with Death, the nightmares she couldn't escape by staying awake because they were spilling into daytime, the looking at Polly and seeing her in pieces; she'd never talk about all that and maybe that was for the best.

"Mal?"

She looked up, briefly. "Yes?"

"You're not going to do it, right?"

"Who, me?" Looking away, not at her, Mal found small comfort in the cigarette.

Carefully, carefully, she felt arms being put around her. She was surprised at first, resistant out of habit. Too close, she knew, but a moment's acceptance wouldn't hurt.

Maladict breathed out.

"Polly, you complete _girl_," she said.

There was amusement. Mal hoped it was amusement. She wasn't sure she could deal with righteous anger at this point.

"Yes," said Polly. "Your point is - ?"

"Don't have one," said Mal, and then there was the sound of footsteps.

Oh, _fuck_.

Mal lazily saluted over Polly's shoulder, cigarette still in her hand. "Evening, Captain," she said, even before the steps had stopped, even before Strappi had seen them.

Polly let go of her, turning her head to find out who was there. She took Mal's hand, and Mal very nearly jerked it away, when she felt something being pressed into her palm.

"It's up to you," said Polly.

So that was how she found out -

"When you're done here," added Polly, not looking at her, "I'd like you to meet my brother. Try not to make a mess, will you?"

And with that, she was off, saluting Strappi on her way.

Mal lounged against the wall and stared at him for a few seconds. She was good at inspiring nervousness, and he was such an easy target.

And it wasn't as if she heard his heartbeat, as such. She heard all of it, the flow, the rhythm, the whirls, and the backwater. There was an ocean in every human, although Mal admitted that metaphor needed work, because noone drank out of oceans, right - ?

She broke the gaze in the end, she had to. "It seems to be your lucky day, Captain," she said, while ancient instincts were pressing their hands to their ears and humming loudly. Pinning the ribbon back in place, she noticed her hands were shaking after all. The ribbon, yes.

She'd put it off, if only because getting blood on it would have been just wrong, no matter what the justification was, and then she'd gone and left it somewhere where Polly could find it.

She was such a wimp.

"Go on," said Strappi, who, regrettably, seemed to have found his voice, "trail after your soldier girl." He spat at the ground. "Nuggan knows you deserve each other."

I'm a vampire, thought Mal. I don't _do_ kind and forgiving, damn it. So -

"Noone's ever trailed after you, poor sod," she said, with one of those smiles that she knew radiated knowingness. It was a shot in the dark, but then again, the target was a mile wide and she had very good night vision.

In the flickering torchlight, she saw the shape under Strappi's uniform jacket. The stake was right there, and fear that was deeply wired into her nervous system made her heart stop for a moment.

He wouldn't dare. He wouldn't. Strappi was the backstabbing sort, he _wouldn't_.

Part of her wished he'd try.

Mal dropped the cigarette end to the ground, crushing the residual glow under her boot. Getting closer, closer, never close enough, she let her fingers trail over his cheek, along the side of his neck, and she noted the lovely freezing of the features, the absence of even the slightest of shivers. She'd liked that, too, years ago.

"Our time was so short-lived," she said, with just a hint of the old malice. "We might have to meet for drinks again."

Strappi would be carrying the stake for the rest of his life.

The noncommittal smile of the reformed vampire, the faint scent of panic, and then she ran to catch up with Polly.


End file.
